Zack nudges me and gives me a reassuring nod. He knows I don’t like having girls in our groups because they never bring much to the table. Girls just sit there, flipping their hair, giggling, and making sure their breasts are pushed together enough to give us a clear view of their cleavage. That shit is annoying, but it’s even worse when they pretend to not know anything. Who the hell is attracted to stupid? Certainly not me. I have a future waiting for me after I finish school.
But right now, at this moment, I don’t care about my usual resolve. I abandon all reason. Ignore all precedents. I shrug my shoulders, telling Zack I’m indifferent. But I’m not. I’m glad she’s in our group. She’s a puzzle I am determined to put together.
“Okay, now that everyone has found their groups,” Professor C. states, looking directly at our group. From the corner of my eye, I see Mia scoot down in her seat. “The first assignment is for the group members to identify a world problem they would like to resolve. I need to know why the problem is important to each of you because this is the problem you will be working on for the rest of the semester.
You will conduct research, work on a presentation, and submit a paper, which you will try and get published in an undergraduate journal. The problem you choose is the problem you’ll be stuck with, so choose wisely. If it’s too hard, well, that’s what makes it a problem. Try and get to know one another, since you will be inseparable until the end of the semester.”
I can’t contain the smile that appears on my face; the professor has made these groups permanent and my mission easier.
6
MIA
As if my humiliation isn’t enough, now we have to work on a semester-long project together, and try and get to know one another like we’re in middle school. This is college; we don’t need icebreakers, and we don’t need group work.
The professor asks us to interview someone in our group. We need to ask each other a few questions like where we come from, how old we are, and our biggest fear. No one needs to know anything about my life, yet my professor expects me to share this information with strangers.
“A sheet with instructions is being distributed. It also contains directions on what the problem you are solving must include. Make sure you choose something everyone in the group is passionate about. To do this, you should get to know one another. This will be your first homework assignment.”
The torture has commenced…well, continued. I hope all the group work can be done in class. I hate having to coordinate with other people just as much as I hate being stuck doing all the work.
One of the girls from the group in front of us turns. Her eyes immediately focus on Colton. I notice she has the assignment sheet in her hand. I assume she turned around to pass it to us, but she now finds herself too consumed by Colton.
I clear my throat as loudly as I can to get the girl’s attention. The girl looks at me with exasperation, her annoyance visible on her face—like I have rudely interrupted her moment, which is bullshit because in reality she is staring at him and he’s having a conversation with Hayes.
“Can I have the instructions?” I ask, directing my gaze at the sheet in her hand. She follows my eyes and immediately pushes out her chest, her mouth curling into a sneaky smile.
Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she says in a manufactured innocent voice, “Hey, Colton.” I look to Colton to see what he’ll do. He turns, looks in her direction, bobs his head and then returns to his conversation.
At that moment, my heart aches for the girl. He barely acknowledges her. She stares at the side of his head a little longer, then shifts her eyes to me and practically throws the sheet at me. Luckily, I catch it before it drops to the floor, but what does end up dropping is every ounce of sympathy I had for her.
I place the assignment instructions on my desk.
“Okay, students, make sure you share contact information with the rest of your group, read the instructions, and I expect this assignment to be ready by next class, which is Monday.” Everyone groans in unison. “Yeah, yeah,” the professor continues. “Have a nice weekend.” He dismisses the class and is the first one out the door. That’s new.
I shoot up from my desk and gather my belongings. Screw this assignment. One missed assignment never hurt anybody. I leave the instruction sheet with questions on the table without even looking at it, and begin to walk down the stairs when I feel a hand grip my arm. Goosebumps break out all over my skin, and I know whose hand it is immediately. I turn to face Colton. I tilt my head back to look him in the eye. Once again, it feels as though time has stopped as his eyes travel my body, searching for something.
I snap back into reality remembering how much of an entitled prick he is, ignoring everyone, being an asshole to people who have attempted to help those that he cares for. I see his mouth curl into a confident smile. Yup, arrogant too. Add that to the long list of negative qualities this guy possesses.
“Can I help you?” I state in the boldest tone I can muster. He stares at me as if he hasn’t registered my words. I drop my gaze to his hand, which is still holding both gently and firmly onto my arm. He follows my gaze, and as if he has been shocked by a thousand bolts of lightning, he rapidly releases his fingers. I see concern flash through his eyes. Maybe he thinks he hurt me, but that isn’t the case, this time.
“Uh, yeah, actually,” he states, scratching the back of his neck with his left hand—a gesture that makes his arm look even bigger, if that’s possible. He looks cute and insecure, but I know it must be a trick that he’s perfected over the years to make girls fall for him. I’m not buying the act, but I don’t mind watching it happen.
“And how’s that?” I inquire, partly intrigued, partly annoyed, while trying really hard to look as disinterested as possible.
“Well, I need your phone number.” My hand immediately goes to my hip, something my mother used to do. I can’t believe he has the guts to ask me for my number when he completely ignored me. I’m about to tell him to screw off when he opens his mouth to speak again.
“Zack and I need it…you know, for the project. We have to figure out a time to get together.” He shows me the instruction sheet that he must have picked up from the table. Guess I must look like the kind of girl who doesn’t give a crap about schoolwork. I blush. He doesn’t want my number for anything more than to work on the assignment—an assignment I had already forgotten about and given up on.
“Ah, yeah, okay.” I won’t say I’m embarrassed, because I’m far past that by now. He hands me his phone and I put my number into it. When I’m done, I hand it back.
“Okay,” he says with a teasing smile. “I’ll text you.” I nod in agreement. He stands there, not saying anything else. Ready to be done with this shitty day, I turn around and walk away.
Every step I take away from him is like pulling an elastic. I’m afraid I’ll be pulled back. I exit the building and try my best to stomp on the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in my stomach. He probably won't text me. I’ll probably be stuck working on this assignment alone, though, I don’t see how that’s even possible considering he has the assignment sheet, not me. I know this, but even so, I can’t eliminate the sliver of hope…hope that he will text me.
COLTON
This week has been shit. Thanks to some of the guys not showing up for practice on Wednesday, we got stuck doing drills at 8 a.m. on Friday. Friday is the day I get to sleep in and actually do my own thing, but here I am. Outside. In the sun, because New England is unpredictable when it comes to the weather so even though its fall, it’s as hot as balls.
Today, we are stuck doing laps. It’s not like we run cross-country or track, but Coach likes collective punishment. Our defense is slow, and opposing teams run circles around them, making thirty-yard passes, running right through our defense. Don’t get me wrong, the guys can tackle, but if a quarterback throws a long enough pass, our guys just can’t get there. Offense is left trying to play catch up every time. And although I can
make passes, you need both a good offense and defense to win games. You need a good team. We’ve been able to keep up, but if we want to win again this year, we have to work on our weaknesses. The other teams have spotted it, and I know they’ll use it to their advantage. I sure as hell would.
I’ve grown up hearing the saying, “You don’t want to be the good player on a bad team.” I know these guys aren’t bad, but they do need to be whipped into shape. So, even though the sun is blinding, and I feel sweat running down my body, I run. I run because I’m the head of this team, and this is the way I lead. That’s why we are all here, out on the field, working ourselves to the point of exhaustion.
We have no choice. I have no choice. At least not if I want to go pro. We’ve had scouts browsing before, but we need to make them stare. We need to give them something to look at. We need to be good enough.
By the time practice is over, I can barely move. I take a shower in the locker room, change, and then check my watch. It’s already 4 p.m. We practiced for eight hours, taking some breaks in between. No one complained though. They know it’s necessary if we want to be the best.
I make my way to the house and go up to my room, which is as far away from everyone else as I can get. I place my gear bag and book bag next to my desk, and proceed to drop onto the welcoming queen-sized mattress. My muscles ache. I’m worn out and I slowly find myself drifting away.
* * *
I wake to the sound of furniture being dragged around. I slowly open my eyes and turn to face the clock. It’s 12:30 p.m.
Shit! It’s Saturday.
I slept for nineteen hours. Who the hell sleeps for that long? I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I need a shower, and to brush my teeth. I hear my stomach grumble. Yeah, food. I need food, too.
I finish getting ready and make my way downstairs, where I immediately spot the guys at work. They’re never up to do anything, especially work, unless it involves partying. Somehow they get their shit together real quick for a party.
The couches and TV are being moved to the basement so that when things get wild, which they always do, no one can break our furniture. We’ve been planning tonight’s official welcoming party for a week. Unofficially, it’s more like a viewing where the guys get to scout the “fresh meat”. The new girls. From this party, the guys will try and get a feel for which girls are easy enough to get into bed, and even how many they can get into bed at once.
I’m not interested in that anymore. I took advantage of these parties, and the status that came from both being in the fraternity, and a football player. That’s not me anymore.
“Hey, Colt, welcome back to life!” Blake comments.
“Yeah, bro, we were starting to worry,” Jesse adds.
“He probably had a girl up there all night. Is she still in there?” Zack gives me a smug grin and lifts his eyebrows.
“Why? You looking for my sloppy seconds?” I tease. As much shit as these guys give me, I love them all. They’re family.
“Never. You know I can hold my own,” Zack responds.
“I’m pretty sure we’ve all had your sloppy seconds,” Chase adds matter-of-factly. That is probably true. I shrug my shoulders and make my way into the kitchen.
The rest of the day passes by quickly, which is always the case when people are busy. We put anything breakable in the basement. We set up kegs in the kitchen, and a DJ booth in the living room which will double as a dance floor tonight. I run upstairs and take another shower. I’m not really in the partying mood but this is one of the responsibilities that come with being president. I get ready, locking my door behind me. The last thing I need is for someone to sneak up here and get off in my room.
I make my way downstairs, grab a beer and go to the backyard where a fire has been lit. I enjoy being out here in the fall. Fall nights are especially spectacular. The stars are clearly visible, shining brightly in the night sky. This, right here, is one of the reasons I chose to go to school close to home. I would miss New Hampshire too much if I left. This place is home.
MIA
He hasn’t texted. He probably isn’t going to text. I have been waiting for a message since Wednesday. I thought he’d at least send a message with his contact info, but no. Nothing. Zero, Zip, Nada.
I told myself not to expect it. I mean, sure at first, I thought he might, but who am I kidding? He’s probably spent the last three days with a different girl, maybe more than one. Gross. Not that it’s any of my business anyway, even if we have this stupid assignment we have to work on together.
“Hey, M, what are you doing?” Kiya says as she lets herself into my room and drops onto my bed.
I signal with my hands at the papers spread all around me. “Well, I was doing homework, but I’m done now.” Almost done anyway, I think bitterly.
“Okay. Good. Get ready. We’re going out,” she exclaims, excitement visible in her eyes.
I throw myself on top of the large pillow on my bed. “No, I’m tired.” I yawn to prove a point.
“Oh, come on! You need to do something fun. You barely do anything.”
“I did something fun like two weekends ago,” I whine.
“That’s crap and you know it. If you remember correctly, the last time we went out, we couldn’t even enjoy ourselves. It involved throw up. You owe me,” she states, looking like a little girl throwing a tantrum because she isn’t getting what she wants. Her arms are crossed and she’s actually pouting. All that’s missing is her stomping her foot.
“Don’t remind me.” The image of Kaitlyn throwing up immediately pops into my brain. I chuckle. That night was something else. That was the night I first ran into Colton…or better said, he ran into me. Shit, why does my mind always go back to him? I feel my will to stay in my room and sleep weakening when I know I’ll spend my night thinking about him. I need a distraction, ASAP.
“So?” Kiya questions expectantly.
“Where are we going?” There is no way in hell I’m returning to Eclipse. Not after the last time.
“We’re going to a house party. It’s a huge party to welcome the freshmen,” she states with a triumphant look on her face. I’d used the word ‘we’, and she knows I’m caving.
“But you aren’t a freshman, and neither am I, Kiya.” It doesn’t make any sense. Why would we show up to a party that is specifically thrown for freshmen?
“Everyone is invited, silly! Plus, you’re a transfer student, so you are fresh meat! At least here at B.U.”
“Alright, fine. But if I go, you have to promise to stick with me. I don’t want to end up on the early morning news.”
“The news? Oh, you mean… Yeah, sure, I’ll stick with you, but you shouldn’t worry. Stuff like that doesn’t happen at B.U.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what most people thought until it happened to them.” I truly worry about what can happen and does happen to girls on college campuses. I don’t want to contribute to the statistics.
“I promise to stick to you like glue, Mia,” Kiya says, raising her right hand as if taking an oath. She isn’t taking this seriously. I arch my brows, giving her a serious look.
“Let’s get ready, Mia.”
I acquiesce, but I’m holding her to her promise. A bar is one thing, but I’ve heard too many stories and most of them don’t end well when it comes to college parties.
“I think I’m goo—”.
Kiya interrupts me before I can finish. “Oh, no you’re not. This time I choose your outfit. I don’t want to be made fun of for living with the girl with the worst style ever! Plus, you owe me considering what you wore last time.”
“Bu—” I start to argue, but once again my best friend cuts me off.
“No buts. Now go and shower. You look like you’ve been fighting a war.” She couldn’t be more right. I have been fighting a war—one she has no idea about.
“Fine, Mom,” I tease. Still, I get up, grab my towel and head to the bathroom because arguing with Kiya is pointless. Sh
e always manages to get her way.
About an hour later, we’re finally ready. And by ready, I mean R-E-A-D-Y. My hair is curled, I’m wearing my favorite high-heeled boots, which I waited two years to get from H&M. They are high but comfortable, so comfortable I can run in them if need be. I’m also wearing a gray off-the-shoulder shirt that has cuts on the sides. It shows just enough skin to be sexy, while not crossing the line. I’m also wearing skinny jeans, which I get to wear because I agreed to let Kiya do my makeup in exchange for not being forced to wear leather pants. Which brings me to the makeup. It is gorgeous—subtle, but sensual and mysterious. On a normal night, I wouldn’t dream of wearing something so daring, but tonight I am feeling particularly courageous.
“Girl, you look amazing!” Kiya says. I strike a pose in response. Her eyes travel from my feet to my head. She seems pleased with her ability to make me look like a different person. She gestures to herself and waits.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You look great, as always.” And she does. She’s wearing a long-sleeved burgundy dress that falls just above the knee, paired with killer makeup and black wedges.
“Oh, shut it,” Kiya replies, but I know she feels better knowing I think she looks great. She has struggled with image issues for a while, even though she’s gorgeous.
“It’s ten o’clock, so we can start heading there,” Kiya declares.
“Okay, cool. Let me grab my purse.” We exit the apartment and Kiya locks the door. It is a picturesque night. The stars light up the sky, and the temperature is perfect. Even after being in New Hampshire the whole summer, I haven't gotten used to the peaceful bright nights. I don’t think I ever will.
We make our way to the party under the light of the stars. I breathe in the clean air and automatically feel at peace. There is something about this place… something that makes me feel like I can start over.
Better With You: A Bragan University Novel Page 4
